


in blackwater woods

by peachesandlesbians



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Some Fluff, no one actually dies though, some talk of death and dying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 10:41:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24968368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians
Summary: Andy tries to come to terms with death.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 24
Kudos: 102





	in blackwater woods

Andy stares out the darkened windows of the town car, biting her nails. It’s a horrible habit she tries to stop, and she does, usually. But in times of stress (like now), it’s an unconscious action.

“Can you please …” Miranda waves her hand in the air in a gesture that’s supposed to mean “stop.”

“Right, yeah.” Andy shoves her hands beneath her legs and goes back to gazing out the window. 

“I didn’t mean …” They look at each other, Miranda expectant, Andy plain confused. “Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Miranda huffs and grabs Andy’s clammy hand with hers.

At the same time, they revert to studying the passing scenery. Still, Andy smiles. They both do. 

The rest of the ride is uneventful until the car drifts to a stop and Roy gets out to open her door first (per Miranda’s orders). As she waits for Miranda to get out, she smooths her dress down. It’s black, of course, which only contributes to her dark mood. 

“Ready to go?” Miranda thinly smiles.

“I suppose.” _Not really._

It’s for the best that Miranda takes the lead, stalking into the conference room like she owns the place. As everyone else files in—the lawyers and Miranda’s accountant and the like—Andy tries to keep her head down. It’s a contrast to how Miranda barks out orders and questions. But her staff keeps up rather admirably, allowing Andy to get lost in her thoughts. 

This whole event is unnecessary. And, to borrow a phrase from Cassidy, “it sucks balls.” Because Christ. Making her will isn’t exactly a fun Saturday afternoon. Plus, having her wife update _her_ will to include Andy just invites all kinds of bad thoughts in. 

Not to mention that Miranda hasn’t smiled at her at all today. She’d been _Runway_ tense and pushy to get this all over with, which wasn’t exactly a bad idea. 

“Andrea?”

Andy shakes her head and tries to look like she’s been listening. “Yes, Miranda?”

“Which vacation home do you want?”

“What?” She stares.

“Or, of course, you can have all of them. I simply ask because we have one in Hawaii, Jamaica, L.A., Rome—”

“I don’t want any of them.” Andy rubs her forehead. “And before you say anything, I don’t want the Lamborghini either.”

“Nor the Ferrari?” Miranda quietly asks. 

“No. So just, I don’t know. Give it to the girls or Emily or something.” With that, Andy crosses her arms and mentally checks out.

It’s rather easy to do, actually. Talk about beneficiaries and assets and debts go over her head anyway, so instead of focusing, Andy thinks about her plans for the rest of the day. She probably won’t get any writing done, so ice cream and rom-coms it is. But all of that will have to wait until she clears the air with Miranda. 

Movement and rustling of paper makes Andy snap her head up. Are they done already? When no one gets up to move, her shoulders slump. Apparently not. 

“Now, Mrs. Sachs—” the top lawyer starts to say.

“Mrs. _Priestly_ -Sachs.” Miranda scowls.

Honestly, ten years together (five married) and people still call her by the wrong name. Andy doesn’t mind that much; it’s just endearing to see Miranda pout when they’re in private.

The lawyer inclines his head. “My apologies, Mrs. Priestly-Sachs. As I was saying, since we’ve finished with the other Mrs. Priestly-Sachs’ will, how would you like to start on yours?”

“I would love that” doesn’t seem that great (or truthful) of a response. So, Andy settles for a blunt, “Let’s get on with it, then.”

* * *

As soon as Roy opens the door when they arrive home, Andy mechanically goes through her routine. In a foggy haze, she watches herself take off her shoes, hang her coat, hug the twins, and drift to the back porch.

The cold air is like a slap in the face. Andy blinks, then leans against the railing, taking a deep breath. Then another one. And another. Yes, that is what she’ll do. She will calm herself down by imagining air rushing into her mouth, down her throat, and enter her lungs in an incredible process to keep her body alive, even when she sometimes wishes it would stop. That everything would simply stop, just for a little. She will not cry. Or pull at her hair. Or scream. In another life, another time, she would have embraced the urge to explode and destroy every single thing that mattered to her. To go mad with grief in an attempt to rally against the unbeatable foe.

Death was one of the first things Miranda mentioned when they began a relationship. A warning that being twenty-five years older, it was inevitable that death would catch her first. Andy—a younger version of her—laughed it off, insisted that it didn’t matter, and she was right, to some degree. Death seemed like a dream made up during a hot summer’s day, something hazy and too difficult to think about. So she simply didn’t. 

But now, Andy is forced to concentrate as death pierced her rose-colored glasses and made its presence known, heard. Felt. She goes back to practicing her breathing as she thinks: _Miranda will die._ _Not soon, God willing, but she will die. And you will not._

It’s honestly amusing how quickly her emotions fluctuate. Andy notes her observation with detachment—because how the fuck is she supposed to reconcile death and the woman she loves? Fury and a type of wretched despair eviscerate the cool detachment she attempts to hold onto. 

_Miranda will die._

Andy grips onto the railing. 

_Miranda will die._

Now the tears come. 

_Miranda will die._

And here comes the pain, the crushing pain that demands to be felt. 

Well, Andy feels it alright. _It_ meaning the feeling of someone jumping onto the subway rails. She is the victim staring the train down. She is the wide-eyed conductor panicking to press the right buttons. She is the train, ready for impact. She is the passerby glancing up at the right (or wrong) moment and seeing the collision of body and metal, thinking: _this is something unearthly._

Of course, Miranda comes out in the middle of her breakdown. She freezes upon seeing the tears on Andy’s face before making her way over the railing. 

“I’m sorry,” Andy blurts out, feeling the need to apologize. 

“There’s no reason to be sorry, you silly girl.” There’s a bit of hesitation before Miranda takes Andy’s hand in hers. 

“I’m not a girl anymore, Miranda. Which is part of the reason this is so stupid.” A scoff makes its way out of Andy’s mouth. 

“Which part, darling?”

“Everything! I mean, why am I crying? I know what I signed up for. You warned me about our age-gap, and here I am, crying about it like I’m twenty-five all over again.”

“Being sad about me dying in the future has absolutely nothing to do with your age. Or maturity.” Steel enters Miranda’s tone, but her touch is as soft as ever. “It’s because you have a big heart.”

“A too-big heart.”

“One that I completely love.”

Andy chokes on her tears. “How are you so calm about all this?”

“Oh, my love.” Now it’s Miranda’s turn to stare morosely and sigh. “I’ve dealt with it in the past years. You think about it a lot when you’re my age.”

The thought of Miranda dealing with such maudlin thoughts on her own makes Andy feel even worse. Still, she sniffs and says, “Thank you. For not tossing this back in my face.”

“I would never!” Miranda raises her eyebrow. “How devilish do you think I am?”

“You’re such a softie, aren’t you?” Andy smiles. Let it be known that Miranda Priestly was not a cruel person. 

“Now that’s pushing it.” Miranda strokes the back of Andy’s hand, looking like the gentle woman she claims not be. Her voice is quiet when she says, “I wouldn’t be upset if you remarried, you know.”

“Jesus.” Andy rolls her eyes, momentarily forgetting her sadness. 

“He has nothing to do with this.”

“You’re right because it’s all my choice. And I’m telling you right now that it’s you. You’re the one I love, and there will be no one else.”

“You don’t know that,” Miranda mutters, glancing down. Maybe she’s only saying that because she thinks she should.

“I do.” Andy leans forward, tilting Miranda’s chin up. “You have to trust me on this, sweetheart. It’s always been you, and that’s how it’ll stay.”

“Oh.” All the tension seems to melt out of Miranda’s body, though she peeks at Andy from the corner of her eye. “Well. I’m a very selfish person, Andrea. Is it bad that I hope you’ll miss me when I’m gone?”

Andy lets out a watery laugh. “Only if you don’t think it’s bad that I’m scared of being alone.”

“Never, darling.”

“Then you have your answer.”

They meet for a gentle kiss before Miranda asks, “Have you been happy, here, with me?”

“Of course! How can you even ask that?” Any of Andy’s indignation fades away when she sees lightness making its way back into Miranda’s eyes. 

“You hold onto that feeling and our memories,” she quietly instructs. “As long as you remember how I made you feel—how we felt together—you will not be alone. It doesn’t matter where I go. I love you from here to there.”

For a while, the only noise is the faint sound of Cassidy’s rock music. Finally, Andy speaks. 

“I will have you for as long as I can.” Andy meets Miranda’s eyes, both recognizing the pain in each other. Deciding to focus on the sunset, and _good_ things, she turns her head. There’s no response from Miranda, except her bringing Andy into her arms. “And then I will have had you, and that will be enough. That will be more than enough.”

* * *

_“To live in this world_

_you must be able_

_to do three things:_

_to love what is mortal;_

_to hold it_

_against your bones knowing_

_your own life depends on it;_

_and, when the time comes to let it_

_go,_

_to let it go.”_ — In Blackwater Woods, Mary Oliver


End file.
